


six months (5 times Michael get his anniversary present wrong + 1 time he gets it very, very right)

by margosfairyeye (Skittery)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: 12 Days of Malex 2020, Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anniversary, Anxiety, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, Gift Giving, Happy Ending, M/M, Malex Secret Santa 2020, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Self-Esteem Issues, the whole gang is here (in minor roles)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skittery/pseuds/margosfairyeye
Summary: Michael wants to give Alex something to celebrate being together for six months, but he can't think of the right thing and goes to their friends for advice.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93
Collections: 12 Days Of Malex 2020





	six months (5 times Michael get his anniversary present wrong + 1 time he gets it very, very right)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wle0416](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wle0416/gifts).



> This is my Malex secret santa gift for [wle0416](https://wle0416.tumblr.com), who gave me some very good dialogue lines as prompts (and I tried to embody the spirit of the first prompt, too)! I had a lot of fun writing a story around the prompt lines and I hope you enjoy it!!

** ONE **

Michael looked around Alex’s bedroom, taking a deep breath. He’d left work early, showered and changed, and had come over to Alex’s early, letting himself into Alex’s house. Alex would be home soon, and Michael had plans. 

They’d been doing this, actually dating, for almost six months, and the significance of that number was hanging over Michael like a heavy cloud. Six months wasn’t a passing thing, it wasn’t hidden nights and maybes—it was real. He knew he had to  _ do _ something, to show that he was all in, to prove that he wasn’t thinking about running away or changing his mind, to commemorate the fact that they’d gone this long without combusting. 

In an ideal world, Michael would have been able to find a present for Alex, something that would be meaningful and special and say everything he couldn’t find actual words to say. But the real world was far from ideal, and Michael couldn’t think of a single thing he could afford that wouldn’t fall flat. Michael couldn’t even make him something, and  _ happy six months, here’s your present from the dollar store _ didn’t have the best ring to it, especially when Alex could easily afford to buy himself the upgraded version of whatever Michael would have picked out. 

Michael was left relying on some other way to show Alex how much he felt, to show how important it was to him that they were really doing this, without a predetermined expiration date. It felt obvious, but as long as he and Alex had been in each others’ lives, sex had always been the way they worked out their feelings—the good and the bad and everything in between. So Michael was just going to give Alex the most mind blowing sex he was capable of, make it  _ special _ —he’d give Alex whatever he wanted in bed, no holds barred—and by the time they were basking in the blissful afterglow of it, Michael would tell Alex he wanted this forever, for real this time, and the words wouldn’t feel as difficult as they did with his clothing on.

Michael ran his fingers through his hair, catching them on a tangle. He wasn’t  _ nervous _ exactly, because he and Alex had fucked  _ a lot _ in the last six months, but there was an extra layer of pressure in wanting to make it special, in wanting to make it  _ matter _ . He’d even lit a candle on Alex’s bedside table—it was a plain white one that he had found tucked into an emergency kit in a closet, and it smelled like exactly nothing, but Michael thought maybe it was adding to the ambience anyway. 

Sticking the takeout (Alex’s favorite) and bottle of cheap champagne he’d brought over on a countertop in the kitchen, Michael stripped down to his jeans (nothing underneath, of course), wearing them low over his hips, and lay across Alex’s bed to wait for him. 

The sound of the door opening echoed through the quiet house, and Michael grinned. He felt excited, and terrified—emotions wrapped up like a knot in his chest. It only took a few minutes for Alex to appear in the bedroom doorway, looking worn and exhausted. 

“Hey.” Alex sat on the edge of the bed, shrugging out of his shirt. 

“Glad you’re finally home,” Michael said, stretching in a way that he knew would make his jeans slip even lower. “I was getting lonely waiting here for you.”

Alex gave him a small, tired smile. Michael ran his hands over Alex’s back, rubbing his fingers over the thin cotton of Alex’s undershirt. He scooted forward, pressing his lips to Alex’s lower back, the skin just barely peeking out between his clothing, and slid one hand to Alex’s hip. 

Alex sighed and moved away from Michael’s touch. “I’m sorry you waited. But I’m really tired, and my leg feels like shit. I’m going to call it an early night.”

Michael frowned. He’d lit a candle and everything, and usually lying in Alex’s bed half-naked would be more than enough to entice Alex—this should have worked. 

Alex started undoing his pants and pulled them off quickly, tossing them at his hamper. Michael sat up, sliding across the bed and pivoting off it, falling to his knees on the floor in front of Alex. Michael turned his expression mischievous as he rested his hands on Alex’s thighs and kissed the bare skin there. “I can help you relax.”

Alex shook his head, looking regretful but firm. “Not tonight, Guerin.” 

Michael rocked back onto his heels as Alex pressed Michael’s shoulders gently backwards, and considered Alex as he started to remove his prosthesis. Maybe once they’d eaten, Alex would be more in the mood. “Maybe after dinner?”

Alex shrugged noncommittally, pulling off his shirt and trading it for comfier clothing, grabbing his crutch to follow Michael out of the room. 

Michael could feel genuine worry simmering in his stomach, and he clenched his fists, determined not to leave just because this wasn’t working and he had a  _ plan _ . Despite the fact that they were talking more, sharing more normal things outside of the bedroom, Michael still leaned hard on sex as a way to fix things, as a way to communicate. There was no way for him to make himself the six month present if Alex didn’t give him more than a sideways glance.

Michael watched Alex eat the reheated takeout, trying to buoy himself with how much he usually loved the quiet parts like this. There were little things he’d never let himself think about before that he was almost ready to consider, things that made his chest swell with warmth—the idea of sharing all of their meals, of always sitting across from Alex, always in the path of the little smiles Alex threw his way, the idea of waking up with Alex most days if not all, of being able to wish him a happy anniversary without being afraid either of them would freak out about it, the idea of the future being easy, no question that they’d still be together. 

He wanted to tell Alex that this was it for him, he was decided, and fuck anyone who thought they could tear the two of them apart. And that meant doing something special, meant offering himself up for whatever Alex wanted, and hoping Alex saw it for the celebration it was. Or just sitting at the table eating lukewarm burgers while the candle burned down to a nub in the bedroom.

After they ate, Alex didn’t seem to have changed his mind. He motioned for Michael to follow as he headed back to the bedroom, but there was no heat in it, nothing implying he wasn’t just about to go to sleep. Michael had to up his game.

Alex took a painkiller and lay down on the bed and Michael eyed him carefully before stripping off his pants and lying down on his side next to Alex. He could feel Alex’s eyes on him, for a moment, taking in the sight of Michael lying there naked, like an invitation. Michael ran his fingers lightly across Alex’s arm and stomach, curling under his chin and pulling him into a kiss that wasn’t nearly as heated as Michael intended. 

Wincing softly, Alex pulled away, his eyes already slipping closed. 

“Alex,” Michael whined softly, “let me make your night better?”  _ It’s almost our six month anniversary _ , he didn’t add, _ and I don’t know what else to do. _

Alex huffed a laugh but didn’t open his eyes, reaching sideways to pat Michael’s arm lightly. “You couldn’t, and that’s not a slight against you. You should stay, but let’s just go to sleep.”

Michael opened his mouth, formulating a response, only to realize that Alex’s hand against his arm had gone lax and his breathing evened out.  _ Fuck _ . Michael lay back against the bed, sighing. The issue was, he couldn’t do this every night—he couldn’t put himself out there more than once in a way that felt this vulnerable. If Alex didn’t see that Michael had  _ tried _ to make this into something, not just another night of staying over, then the idea of his efforts functioning as a gift was obviously misguided. 

Michael carefully leaned over Alex’s sleeping form and blew out the candle on the bedside table, watching the smoke swirl up into the darkness. He’d have to think of something else. 

** TWO **

“So yeah, unfortunately, I need your help,” Michael finished, looking expectantly at Max and Isobel. 

Isobel gave him a look as she sipped her smoothie. “Well, I am the most qualified person to talk about long-term relationships. And no,” she looked at both of them in turn, “pining for a decade doesn’t count as a long-term relationship.” 

Michael shrugged, letting her have it, and took a drink of his beer. They were gathered in Isobel’s yard for brunch, which basically meant a bagel and whatever each person’s drink of choice was. After trying and failing to entice Alex with special sex two nights in the same week, Michael didn’t feel too bad about choosing something alcoholic. 

He tried not to roll his eyes at the smug looks coming off both Isobel and Max—and Max  _ so _ didn’t deserve to be smirking, considering he and Liz had patched things up even more recently than Michael and Alex had. “So what do I do?”

“Something heartfelt,” Max started, and Isobel rolled her eyes. 

“Honestly?” Isobel asked, and Michael nodded. “I think you had the right idea. Sex is a great gift.”

Max frowned at her. “No, he should do something different, and romantic. Like…” he looked around like he was trying to think of it, “read him a love poem.”

Isobel snorted and Michael blinked at Max. “A love poem?”

“Yeah,” Max smiled a little private smile that Michael absolutely did not want details on, “people like that romantic stuff.”

“No, they don’t.” Isobel rolled her eyes, leaning over the table to put her hands forcefully on Michael’s shoulders. “Don’t make yourself do something you’ll hate, just make the sex more special.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Get some lingerie, or scented candles—romantic shit like that.”

Michael considered both of them. The ideas weren’t  _ bad _ , exactly, just also not in his wheelhouse. Which might be exactly what he needed—something different, something to make Alex pay attention, something unequivocally  _ romantic. _

“Well which one should I pick?” 

Max shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “Poetry is cheaper.” Hard to argue with that. 

Which was how Michael found himself that afternoon sitting in his own bed scrolling through endless websites of love poetry and wondering if this was a mistake. By the time he’d found something that might possibly be strong enough to touch the edges of the way he really felt, it was already past the time he should have left to meet Alex. Taking a swig from a bourbon bottle for good luck, Michael shoved his phone in his pocket and left. 

Michael pulled up to Alex’s and waited nervously by the door, his phone feeling heavier than usual in his pocket, opened to the page with the poem. Alex pulled it open, looking less tired than the day before, at least. 

“Hey.” His soft smile lifted Michael’s mood a little bit, although he really could have used even more alcohol to build up his confidence. “I made pasta.”

Michael nodded and followed Alex inside. Most of the time, both of them were too tired or busy (or injured) to cook, and it was always a nice surprise when it happened, even if it was just pasta. And here Michael was about to ruin it with a sappy poem; or, if it wasn’t ruined, he’d have to listen to Max gloating about how good his idea had been, which was another type of ruination. 

He waited until they’d finished eating, making casual conversation while his pocket got heavier and heavier with the anticipation. He was considering giving it up entirely—who even  _ needed _ to make a big deal about six months, after all?—until Alex leaned across the table, wiping a streak of tomato sauce off of Michael’s lips with his thumb and slipping it into his own mouth. It was both extremely hot and extremely intimate, and Michael was overwhelmed by how much he wanted to say something expansive about how much he loved Alex, the words sticking in his throat as he swallowed. 

“Hey, I, um, have something I wanted to read you.”

Alex, who’d been standing up to clear off the table, nodded slowly and sat back against his chair, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” Michael said quickly. “No, just…one sec.” He pulled out his phone, taking a deep breath. He felt heat on the back of his neck as he looked down at the words on the open page, glad he wasn’t someone who blushed too obviously. He felt foolish, but desperate times…

“You’re sure something isn’t wrong?”

Michael took another breath and schooled his face into neutral, hoping Alex couldn’t see how much he was banking on this working, on being able to say all the things he needed to say with someone else’s words as a springboard. He swallowed and licked his suddenly far too dry lips. “ Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head, / so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name. ”

Alex’s frown was starting to resolve into a smile, and Michael felt a burst of relief—maybe this was actually working. Max was going to be insufferable. 

“Like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables / like a charm, like a spell. ”

Michael was so focused on the words on the screen that he didn’t hear Alex laugh until he was already halfway through the next line. Looking up, Michael paused. “What?”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Alex said, still laughing. “Just…what is this?”

Michael’s palms were sweaty, and he shifted his phone between his hands so he could wipe them discreetly on his jeans under the table. Was Alex actually laughing at this? He’d thought the poem would be good, and meaningful, and  _ helpful _ , and now he immediately felt shame coating all of that hope. 

“It’s just something I thought…” Michael let his voice trail off. 

“Are you reading a poem? Why?” He sounded so incredulous that Michael immediately wanted to walk back the whole experience, and pretend that he’d never done something so foolish as introduce someone else’s words when  _ his own _ weren’t even good enough. 

“Never mind,” Michael said quickly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Forget about it.”

Alex smiled, still incredulous, still looking like he was on the edge of bursting into laughter. His eyes narrowed as he stood up. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

Michael nodded, smiling tightly. Of course,  _ of course _ he was fine, he was  _ always _ fine—things didn’t bother Michael Guerin, he’d been bouncing back from disappointment his entire life, and why should anything be different now. It was just one stupid idea, and he’d  _ known _ it was stupid—he was just trying something outside his own comfort zone, and that was a mistake. 

Alex nodded like it was conclusive, although he didn’t entirely look convinced. He squeezed Michael’s shoulder reassuringly. “Want to watch tv or something?”

Michael nodded again, lifting his plate off the table as he got up to follow Alex. So two of his plans had failed, so what? It just meant he wasn’t trying hard enough, and he still had Isobel’s idea, plus he was certain he could think of something else to try if he had to. Or maybe he was spending too much time thinking about this—maybe acknowledging six months was just something insecure people did, and he could live without it. 

He’d call Isobel in the morning. 

** THREE **

“What you need is something to make it  _ special _ ,” Isobel said, sweeping through the store she’d brought him to, almost an hour’s drive out of town. When she’d said they were going shopping for way to make sex more romantic, he’d pictured a seedy toy shop, or one of those places that sold mostly leather and kept the windows covered; but instead, they were in a brightly lit boutique shop with gauzy white curtains in the windows and a pervasive smell of lavender in the air. 

“Why did we have to come all the way out here for this?” Michael groused, following her down an aisle of candles, most of them in stupid heart-shaped glass containers. 

“Because,” Isobel said, picking up a candle to smell and wrinkling her nose, “in order to make it seem like you tried, you have to actually  _ try _ . And this place has always done well enough for me.” She shrugged and Michael tried not to roll his eyes. He had a vague feeling that the person behind the counter was watching him specifically to see if he was going to shoplift. 

He was trying to figure out how to tell Isobel this maybe wasn’t entirely his scene when she shoved a candle under his nose. It smelled nice—a little bit like rain, and a little bit like the sun, and like something floral, but not so much that it made him want to sneeze. 

“Nice, right?” 

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know, it smells like a candle.” He took it from her and looked at the price tag. “That I can’t afford.” 

Isobel rolled her eyes. “I want this to be nice for you, I’ll front you the candle.” She took it back from him and started walking towards another aisle before he could argue. “You can make it up to me with free maintenance next time I break something.”

He decided it was better not to try arguing, and the candle did smell pretty nice—less girly than he’d been concerned about, since he didn’t want Alex to think that he was making fun of this at all. The wrong purchases here could make it feel like he was trying to recreate cheap porn or a bachelorette party, and that was  _ absolutely _ not going to work.

“Here.” Isobel stopped in front of a display of men’s briefs in various colors and materials. All of Michael’s current underwear was black, because it was usually the cheapest to buy in bulk. He looked at her skeptically and she looked right back at him like he was being dense. “Lingerie is never a bad idea.”

Michael sighed, sensing she wasn’t about to back down. “If you say so.”

Ten moderately embarrassing minutes later, Michael was walking out of the store with not one, but two candles in heart-shaped containers, a fancy massage oil, and a pair of red lace briefs that hid absolutely nothing and Isobel said were a sure thing. She’d paid for just about all of it, and the only thing keeping Michael from feeling very annoyed by that fact alone was that he was almost certain this was a terrible idea and—seeing as it was Isobel’s idea—better her money wasted than his. 

By the time they’d driven back to Roswell, it was already early evening, and Isobel left Michael sitting alone on his bed with a bag of purchases, contemplating his choices. The candles were fine—a step up from the last attempt at romantic scene-setting—but they were also  _ a lot _ . They were shaped like a heart for fuck’s sake, and they’d only  _ just _ stopped saying ‘I loved you’ in the past tense. And then there were the briefs, which would either be as big a hit as Isobel predicted, or a complete failure—depending on if Alex was into it or just laughed at him.

He was sufficiently committed, though, that he didn’t want to throw in the towel now, and he’d already texted Alex earlier to say he’d come by later in the evening. It would just take a little more liquid confidence than normal, a little more bravado than he had been putting on lately with Alex. Not impossible, just different—and, admittedly, different was the entire point. 

He poured out a shot and threw it back before unbuckling his jeans and sliding off his pants and regular underwear, trading it for the lacy pair. It felt strange, and slightly itchy, but he could absolutely see the appeal as he looked down at himself—the way the skin peeked through the lace, the contrast of the red of the fabric.

“Better fucking like it,” Michael muttered, starting to pour himself another shot and then thinking better of it and just taking a drink from the bottle, the liquid cool against his lips and burning his throat. 

Still holding the bottle, Michael lay back on his bed, getting used to the sensation of the lace. He’d have to drive over to Alex, and he’d have to get through at least part of the evening with his clothing on, and he was fairly certain it would not be hot if he kept needing to adjust the unfamiliar briefs. He took another drink. 

Michael let himself imagine it, the way it would feel to tell Alex to wait in the living room for a moment, to light the candles and arrange himself across the bed, the way the red would stand out against Alex’s perennially white sheets. He imagined the way it would be hard to breathe through the anticipation, imagined Alex’s smile—warm, a little surprised, a little turned on—and how he would see all of the effort Michael put in and know it meant  _ something _ . 

He took another drink and the images changed to something worse—Alex laughing, or telling him he looked ridiculous, or being too tired or uninterested to even follow Michael into the bedroom, the sting of rejection as he had to sit in his shame underwear for the rest of the night, for the drive home.  _ Fuck _ . 

It was a bad idea, it was all a bad idea. Michael knew Alex would never really laugh at him, not in a cruel way, but he also knew himself, and he knew that getting embarrassed, feeling ashamed, it would pierce deep and he’d pull away without even meaning to. Plus, Alex  _ had _ laughed at the poem, and Michael had been feeling almost secure in that one. Sure, once he’d gotten the briefs  _ off _ , he’d be confident, but what if Alex was so not into them that it never got that far? Michael groaned, feeling torn, and drank deeply from the bottle—for courage. 

He lay there, lost in his thoughts, paralyzed by the fear of falling short, of giving Alex an excuse to turn him away, of ruining things right when they were going well. Michael  _ always _ fucked things up, and this just seemed like the perfect opportunity, a storm of things that might go wrong, all of them already eating at him, acid in his throat. 

Michael didn’t hear his phone buzz, or he did and it didn’t register. The time passing didn’t register, either, until he stumbled up to relieve himself and realized he’d drank much more than he’d intended, the walls seeming to shift around him, spinning slightly.

He stumbled back to his bed just as his phone rang again, and he blinked at it, picking up when he registered Alex’s number. “Hi.”

“Are you okay? Is something wrong? Where are you?”

Michael sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes. “I’m fine, I’m home.” He was met with silence, and Michael frowned at the phone, moving it away from his ear to check that the call hadn’t dropped—nope. “Alex?”

“It’s almost midnight, Guerin.”

Michael winced.  _ Fuck.  _ The time had just flown by, and now it was late and he was too drunk to drive and Alex sounded unhappy enough that Michael thought he might be better off staying where he was, anyway. “Shit, I’m sorry, I must’ve…I just lost track of time.” He glanced around, looking for an excuse like it might be hanging on a wall, and for some reason when he caught sight of his red briefs, they suddenly struck him as extremely funny, and Michael couldn’t help but giggle into the phone. 

Alex’s sigh was audible. “I was worried. Still want to come over?”

Michael shook his head even though he knew Alex couldn’t see it, considering the dwindling bourbon in the bottle next to the bed. “Tonight’s a wash, unless you wanna come over and help me finish up this bottle.” He knew before Alex said anything that the answer was no. 

“I’ve got to be up early anyway. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The call disconnected before Michael could try to save it, and he sighed, lying back against the bed. Michael always kind of liked the feeling of being drunk enough that things started spinning—he thought it might be kind of like the sensation of being out in space, weightless,  _ right— _ but the feeling was marred by the fact that he knew that he’d fucked up, that instead of a celebration, he’d only succeeded in pushing Alex away. 

_ Fucking great _ . Michael stripped off the lace briefs and tossed them towards the bag that still held the candles, then slid under his blankets and curled up with the bottle, trying to figure out his next move.

** FOUR **

Going to ask for advice had been bad enough when it was just Isobel and Max, but calling Liz and slinking into the Crashdown was far, far worse. Especially because even though he’d specifically told her he needed  _ personal _ advice, Kyle was sitting at the counter with her. 

Michael took a deep breath to steel himself as he pushed through the door. Alex had been (understandably) pissed that Michael had blown him off the other night—Alex had pretended it was fine, but Michael could see that he was still upset when he’d gone to apologize the next day, could see it in Alex’s demeanor and the way he specifically avoided offering Michael any alcohol while he was there. Michael had to do better, but when he tried to think of something his mind just drew a blank and he was running out of time before it would be so far past the six month date that celebrating would be weird. 

Liz greeted him brightly as he slid onto the stool next to her, nodding at Kyle and secretly wishing he could influence minds like Isobel could, just to make Kyle leave. No such luck, though, and since Kyle seemed determined to sit there past the point of pleasantries, Michael decided it wasn’t worth the argument, and he’d just have to deal with Kyle’s undoubtedly loud judgement about Michael’s inability to run his own relationship. 

“Any ideas?” Michael asked after he’d explained the situation in broad strokes, stealing a fry from the pile in front of Liz. 

“Anniversaries are rough,” Kyle said sympathetically, and Liz nodded while Michael tried not to voice his concern that he had suddenly fallen into an alternate universe where he sort of liked Kyle. “My go-to is always a nice dinner—fancy restaurant, candlelight, sharing dessert, all that shit. Never fails.”

Liz gave him a look. “Expensive food might get you laid, but this is about emotional connection, not showing off.” She smiled at Michael. “Something more personal maybe?”

Michael frowned. “Like what? Because Max’s poetry idea already burnt me.”

Liz grinned. “You didn’t let him recommend poetry to you, did you?” She shook her head. “Brilliant man, terrible taste in poetry.” Michael grinned back, shaking his head. “Try something personal that’s more in your wheelhouse like…” she looked around like she was hoping for an idea to jump off the diner wall. “Cook him dinner? Or dancing, maybe? You both like music.”

Michael decided to skip over the part where he asked her how she knew that, and focus on the fact that it wasn’t too bad an idea. “Not terrible ideas.” 

“As a backup,” Kyle cut in, leaning around Liz. “But I  _ know  _ Alex, and he never does anything nice for himself. And I strongly doubt you can cook as well as a nice restaurant. Think about it.”

“Sure,” Michael allowed, glancing around, “but this might be the nicest place in town so…” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll text you the place I usually go to, it’s not too far a drive.” Both Michael and Liz stared at him and Kyle shrugged. “What? It  _ does _ also get you laid.”

Michael waited for his phone to buzz with Kyle’s text, then hovered for a few minutes of conversation so it wouldn’t seem like he was just there to take advantage of the fact that he was apparently the only person without any concrete ideas of how to do something nice for Alex. 

It didn’t occur to Michael until he’d briefly googled the place Kyle indicated and told Alex to plan on going out for dinner that he’d have to actually pay for the fancy dinner, and the number of little dollar signs next to the name of the place on google was a very bad sign. 

Still, Alex seemed excited about going out somewhere new, and Michael figured he could always give up groceries for a few weeks and hope Isobel took pity on him—if Alex liked this, then it would be worth it.

Michael pulled on his nicest jeans and a grey work shirt, swallowing before shoving his phone into one pocket and a wad of cash into the other, hoping it would be enough. 

The drive to Alex’s was short, and well-known, and he barely felt nervous at all. He felt the thrill of anticipation that always came when he was about to see Alex, along with the fervent, burning hope that this would go well, but no real nerves. At least, not until Alex came out of his house wearing a button-down shirt and slacks. 

“Damn, you look nice,” Michael said approvingly as Alex slid into the truck. 

“Yeah, well, you forgot to tell me where we were going,” Alex said, a smile playing across his lips, “so I dressed up just in case.”

“Not complaining,” Michael clarified as he pulled out of Alex’s driveway, suddenly feeling curls of anxiety next to the happy streak of anticipation in his stomach. 

“You look good, too,” Alex said, still smiling quietly, like he was shy after all of the things they’d been through. Michael grinned. It was cute, the expression on Alex’s face, and he knew where it was coming from—they hardly ever went  _ out  _ on actual dates, and it felt a little bit like the beginning of something, even though they were already well into a year together. 

It took a while to get to the restaurant, and Michael slipped into the comfortable familiarity of their conversation, although it did nothing for his newly formed nerves. About halfway there, he turned on the radio, just to hear Alex complain about the lack of authenticity in popular music, just to hear their voices ringing out together in semi-in-tune choruses together. It was  _ nice _ , and Michael thought Kyle might have actually been onto something with this suggestion. 

The restaurant was alone on a corner, a big brick building with dim lights shining through the windows, and tealights on the tables. The door was flanked by a thick black curtain and three hosts standing by, their numbers rounded off by a security guard. 

It only took a moment for Michael to look around and see that he was extremely underdressed. Still,  _ Alex _ looked nice, and Michael had talked his way into more complicated situations than a restaurant. 

One of the hostesses greeted them cheerfully, and Michael stepped forward to ask for a table. Her smile slipped a bit as she took him in. “You have a reservation?”

_ Fuck _ . Michael shook his head, and he could feel Alex’s expression burning an incredulous hole into his shoulder. “We don’t, but I’m sure you can find a free table for us.” He smiled at the hostess, leaning on charm for the moment, aware that the restaurant was dotted with empty tables. 

Unimpressed, the hostess looked him up and down, clearly judging his clothing, and then turned away to her computer. Micheal’s hands were getting a little bit sweaty, and he curled them into fists, hating how comfortable that felt. He could hear Alex sigh behind him. 

“All under control,” Michael reassured quietly, as he looked over his shoulder at Alex. He waited for Alex’s nod until he turned back to the increasingly less friendly hostess, pasting on a smile again. 

“ _ Okay, _ follow me,” she said, looking at him disdainfully again and putting the emphasis on the first word for Michael to know she was implying he didn’t belong there, but there was nothing she could do about it.

“Great,” he said, smiling tightly as she shrugged and led them over to a table buried in the corner. So that no one would see them easily from the door, and get uppity about ‘the type of people’ who came here, he suspected. Rage flared under Michael’s skin, making him itch with the need to hit something, to make a fuss, to prove he wasn’t worse than any other asshole here. He balled his hands into fists but forced himself to swallow down the feeling—end of the day, a table was a table. 

They sat, and Michael took a long moment to appreciate the way the candle in the middle of the table threw warm, flickering light across Alex’s face, the way his eyes shone in the dim light. Michael watched Alex open the menu and sift through it, overwhelmed with feeling when Alex looked up and smiled at him. This was the closest they’d ever come to a real, movie-level date, and it was worth whatever Michael had to pay to feel like the luckiest person in a place like this.

“This place is nice,” Alex said slowly, and Michael preened, even though Alex’s voice was uncertain. Alex frowned slightly. “You sure you wouldn’t rather go to the bar down the street?”

Michael fought back the immediate desire to both agree to that and feel somewhat offended. He shook his head. “Nope.” Why was Alex acting like he had just stumbled into this place instead of bringing him there intentionally? Michael opened his own menu, burying his head in it to avoid saying something confrontational he knew he’d just regret. 

Looking at the menu turned out to be not a great idea either. Michael had seen the little dollar signs on google, he’d tried to mentally prepare himself for the cost of this meal, but he hadn’t come anywhere close to imagining how expensive it was really going to be. There was nothing on the menu cheaper than $20—and that was the  _ side salad— _ and the alcohol list consisted entirely of bottles of wine, any one of which were the same cost as an entire meal at the diner.  __

“Fuck,” he mumbled, looking under the table and discreetly trying to flip through the cash in his pocket to see how much he’d brought. Not enough, that was for sure. But this was a gift, and it was important for Alex at least to enjoy himself.

Alex was looking at Michael when he pulled his eyes back up, eyes narrowed. “Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to just go somewhere else? Somewhere…” he lowered his voice, “cheaper?”

“No, Alex, I don’t.” It was ridiculous to get irritated about it, Michael knew, but that didn’t stop him from feeling that way. He considered putting his hand on Alex’s, resting on the tabletop, and then glanced sideways to the table nearest them—old white couple, pearls and a shirt buttoned all the way up—and thought better of it, swallowing uncomfortably. “Look,” he said, leaning towards Alex, his breath making the candle flicker, “I want us to have a nice date, okay? We deserve places like this.” Alex’s lips curled up, not quite a smile, but moving in that direction. “You can order whatever you want. It’s…special.” Michael felt his face heating, less because of the scenario than the admittance that he was doing something special, the effort it took to admit this wasn’t just an offhanded, random choice for dinner. 

The waitress came over, with bread and water in a glass bottle, and Michael watched Alex order with only a slight roiling panic in his stomach. When the waitress turned to him, Michael ordered them the cheapest bottle of wine on the menu, and a salad. 

“That’s all you’re eating?” Alex asked incredulously, “I should order less then…”

“No.” Michael shook his head, waving the waitress away. “Seriously, this is good.”

It was  _ almost  _ good. The wine was good, even though Michael would have killed for something stronger; the atmosphere was good—or at least, it was the stereotypical romantic scene, and it felt like he was doing something right, even though it wasn’t actually the height of what Michael  _ himself _ found romantic; the food was fine—Alex’s plate looked good, and the salad was by far not the worst thing Michael had ever eaten; the individual pieces were all there. But overall, it wasn’t going well. 

Their conversation was stilted, at best. Alex kept his frown in the lines on his forehead even when his mouth was smiling, and he seemed irritated by every nice thing Michael tried to do—he didn’t like that Michael kept pouring him more wine, he didn’t like that Michael was trying to be polite and not steal bites off of Alex’s plate even though it looked better than his, he didn’t seem to like it anytime Michael made a reference to this being  _ a special occasion,  _ frowning across the table. 

By the time they’d finished eating and there was a bill sitting in front of Michael, his mood had dropped. He was hungry, and hot from the wine, and Alex seemed annoyed even though he had tried to do everything right. How this ever worked out for Valenti, he had no idea—except he  _ did _ know, deep down, knew that it was him, something  _ he _ was lacking, that was making this bad, that was ruining all of this. 

With the waitress hovering over them like she was certain they were going to try to skip out on the bill, Michael pulled out his cash, counting it again under the table, his hands fumbling with the sticky bills. He started piling money on the table, aware of the way the people next to them turned up their noses, aware that probably everyone else who paid in cash here would be using higher denomination bills. 

“Do you need some more time?” the waitress asked. 

“Nope, do you have any other tables to babysit?” Michael snapped back, instantly regretting it. 

“I don’t,” she replied frostily. “Maybe it would be faster if you paid with a card?”

“Maybe it would be faster if you stopped talking,” Michael spat, before Alex could offer to pay with a credit card. He snuck a glance across the table—Alex was frowning. It seemed like the minutes were stretching out, every breath Michael took lasting endless seconds, resounding uncomfortably in his ears. Eventually, he just tossed the entire pile of bills onto the table, smiling tightly up at the waitress. “That should cover it.”

The waitress gave him a skeptical look, and picked up the money like she was picking up a piece of trash. 

“I could have helped,” Alex said, once she’d walked away, muttering about change. 

“No.” Michael shook his head. “No, this was my thing.”

Alex sighed. There was a little bit of wine left in the bottle, and Michael held it up in offering, but Alex just shook his head. Fine, but there was no way in hell Michael was letting expensive wine go to waste. He splashed the liquid into his glass, tossing it back quickly, anxious to leave. The waitress came back with just enough change to make a small tip, and Michael regretfully watched his entire month’s earnings slip away as he left it on the table.

“How generous,” the waitress said sarcastically.

Michael pushed his chair away from the table, letting it clatter back against the wall, his skin burning with frustration. He’d  _ tried _ , he’d fucking tried, like he  _ kept _ trying, and it felt like no matter what he did, everything just kept failing, like ill-fated dominoes. He stormed out of the restaurant, Alex close on his heels, shoving past the security guard in a way that couldn’t be taken as anything but provoking a fight, his knuckles tingling with how much he needed to get out this anxious energy. Luckily, the guard just shrugged him off as he pushed through the door and onto the sidewalk. 

“Hey, Guerin, what the hell was that?”

Michael kept walking, stopping in front of his truck, his anger turning into shame. He spun around to see Alex standing a few feet behind him, looking angry in that blank way that always made everything feel worse. The way that meant he was preparing for pushing Michael away. 

“What was what?” Michael asked, trying for neutral, as if he didn’t know that had all gone wrong. 

Alex gestured around, waving his hands back at the restaurant. “All of that? Why did we even come here if it was going to be too much? Why didn’t we just go somewhere we know?”

“Because,” Michael sputtered, kicking at the wheel of the truck impotently, “this was supposed to be special.” He hesitated, not wanting to out himself as having gone to someone else for advice. “It had good reviews, and I just wanted to do something nice for you, something impressive, because—”

Alex cut him off with a bitter huff of a laugh, and there was suddenly no way for Michael to even approach the reason why he’d tried so hard with something like this, something that fit him so poorly that Alex could see right through it. 

“Right. This was supposed to be nice?”

Michael grit his teeth, trying not to get angry. “I tried, okay? What exactly did I do wrong?” He paused, looking at Alex expectantly. “Tell me,  _ Alex _ , how did I fuck up this time?” 

“That was embarrassing!” Alex said heatedly, and Michael closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. He only opened his eyes when he felt Alex step closer, his nerves lighting up at just the sense that Alex was standing close, same as always. 

“It’s just, this isn’t us.” Michael opened his eyes at the softer tone in Alex’s voice. “I like our normal places. Why are you trying to make this us?” 

There were a thousand things that Michael could say, to take advantage of the opening Alex was giving him to explain—he could admit he’d been trying to figure out the anniversary thing, he could admit he wanted to be the kind of couple that could go out like this and feel secure in each other, he could say how much he loved Alex and how sorry he was for pressing them into a mold they didn’t fit—but Michael’s voice caught in his throat, held back by pride and anger. He shook his head. 

“If you don’t like it, then I won’t try this again, okay?” Michael said. Alex’s face dipped, and Michael reached out and grabbed his hand, rubbing across Alex’s knuckles, glad when Alex allowed it. He softened his tone as he repeated, “okay?” 

Alex nodded, smiling slightly, but underneath it, he still looked upset. Michael squeezed his hand before letting go, and they climbed into the truck, existing in an uncomfortable but not angry silence. Michael turned up the radio, but neither of them sang along as he drove back towards Roswell. 

** FIVE **

Michael parked in Alex’s driveway and unloaded the supplies from his truck. They hadn’t talked as much since the disastrous dinner, but Michael was feeling cautiously optimistic. This was the last chance he was taking to get it right. And if tonight failed, maybe it wasn’t meant to happen, maybe this wasn’t the time they were supposed to become the people who measured relationship time in years and months instead of weeks and days. 

That his last attempt on giving Alex something that would count as a gift was Liz’s suggestion was also cause for cautious optimism. She knew both of them well enough, and she was smart, and her idea was the least out-there for him. He was going to cook—he was going to grill _ ,  _ technically, but it still counted—and he had learned a few dance moves just in case Alex seemed into that. He’d also made a playlist just for this, even including songs he knew Alex liked, regardless of how much they made Michael cringe through his smile. 

Michael let himself into Alex’s house, stashing some beer in the fridge and grabbing the things he needed before retreating outside and setting up the grill. He opened Alex’s windows and spun around some speakers, hooking them up to his phone. It wasn’t the fanciest setup, but it also wasn’t trying to make them into something they weren’t, so hopefully he wouldn’t crash and burn as badly as he had the last time. 

The amount of time it took him to get the grill set up and turned on should have been his first indication that it wasn’t all going to go well. Alex had a fancy grill, with too many dials and buttons, and it was like trying to cook with a computer that both wanted to fight and burn him. 

He had a few hours until Alex was scheduled to be home, and he settled into a rhythm as he put vegetables and meat onto the grill. It was going so well, in fact, that he decided it wasn’t a big risk to go inside and get a beer. Michael drank it quickly, thirsty from standing outside, and—although he didn’t want to admit it—nervous. He’d let Alex know he was coming over to make up for the dinner mess, but he  _ did  _ technically invite himself over, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything he did to try to show Alex how much he cared was instead making Alex consider their relationship from the absolute wrong direction, the one where Michael looked like a mess who wasn’t worth the time or effort. If that fear was always simmering underneath Michael’s confident exterior, no one had to know except himself. 

The beer turned into two, and Michael stood in Alex’s bathroom, trying to make himself look nice—unbuttoning and re-buttoning the top few buttons his shirt until he decided to leave them undone, ruffling his hands through his hair even though it did nothing—and then grabbed a third beer, opening it as he walked outside. 

He could smell that something wasn’t right as soon as he stepped outside. Rushing over to the grill, Michael pulled the top open and turned the heat down, but it was too late—all of the food was irreparably burnt. 

Michael heaved out a shaky exhale, blinking back frustration. It was all ruined, and he’d barely found the funds for this in the first place, there was no way he could replace all of it and start again. Everything was crumbling around him, and the frustration of all it had just built up and up and up until it brought him here, standing with a half-finished beer in front of a pile of burnt meat. 

It wasn’t intentional, but instinctual when Michael lashed out with his powers, bringing the full weight of his frustrations against the fancy grill, which slid across Alex’s patio and slammed into the ground forcefully enough to break it.  _ Fuck _. 

It was almost funny, standing in a wreckage of burnt food and twisted metal, his phone happily playing through a playlist that seemed hilariously out of place for the current situation. Michael drank the rest of his beer quickly, then went inside and grabbed the rest of them. 

He was good and on his way to drunk when Alex came home. He walked over to Michael with his eyes wide. “What happened?” 

Michael smiled lazily, even though inside he was mourning the loss of something he knew he’d never be able to hold on to anyway, not for real. That’s what this had all been about, he was just overcompensating, trying too hard to hold onto someone he needed too much. He pulled himself up off the ground. “Accident. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

“You’ll..? What?” Alex looked in disbelief from Michael to the pile of empty bottles to the ruined grill. No, not disbelief. Michael wished it was disbelief, but instead Alex almost looked like he was expecting this. 

“No, no, no, it’s fine.” Michael said, grasping. “I’ll fix it, just…” the playlist had moved onto a song Michael knew that Alex loved, “dance with me?” He held his hands out, grabbing Alex’s wrist, and Alex stared for a moment before softly shaking him off. 

“No, Guerin.” He took a deep breath. “Michael. What happened?”

“Accident,” Michael repeated, “I just…”  _ I keep trying and things keep going wrong and I’m so sorry, I wish I could be good enough.  _ “Dance?”

Alex shook his head, and Michael briefly considered offering sex again until Alex spoke. “So you came over here, and broke my grill somehow, and got drunk, and now you want me to dance with you?” Alex shook his head again. “What’s been up with you recently?”

Michael laughed a little, even though absolutely nothing was funny. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

“Seriously, Michael, what is going on?”

Michael pushed a grin onto his face. Alex was looking at him softly enough that Michael thought he could maybe be forgiven, but he was still too frustrated with himself, too certain that it was all going south, too tipsy from beer and adrenaline to reason with himself. “Nothing. I’m fun, you used to like that about me.”

Alex looked at him with that flat look, the one he’d give Michael outside the restaurant, the one that Michael hated more than any look of anger. “You know, I shouldn’t even be surprised. I guess what they say is true—old habits die hard.”

It hit with the force Alex meant it to, and Michael stepped back like he’d been stung. He nodded, slowly, and then lifted the bottles and the broken grill into the air, floating them into the bed of his truck. He unplugged his phone from the speakers, the music cutting off with an aggressive buzz that felt exactly right for the moment. 

“I’ll fix it,” Michael said, but Alex was already turning away and walking inside. 

_ Fuck _ . 

** PLUS ONE **

Michael stared at the text for long minutes before pressing send and watching it whoosh into being in his chat with Alex.  _ Come for a drive? _

It had been days since the grilling incident, days Michael had spent in bed or at the bar, trying to figure out his next move. He’d even called Isobel, who had very nicely told him that she was (a) all out of charitable lingerie money and (b) not going to be able to help him fix this one, since all he had to do was  _ explain _ what he’d been trying to do, and he had to learn to talk things out at some point.

So here he was, sending a text that made his stomach clench with nerves. He’d piled some blankets, pillows, and snacks (plus the extremely cheap bottle of sparkling wine) into the bed of his truck, just in case Alex said yes. He hoped Alex said yes. He  _ needed _ Alex to say yes. 

Michael had spent days moping, and feeling sorry for himself, and he was over it. This entire thing had been about trying to tell Alex that he was all in, that their relationship was the only solid thing Michael had ever had, and he’d be damned if he was ever going to jeopardize that. And then, of course, he inadvertently had—and now all that mattered was explaining himself, and getting that back, getting  _ them _ back to where he wanted them to be, just past six months and no sign of stopping.

His phone buzzed with Alex’s reply:  _ okay. _

The drive to Alex’s was short and uneventful, but Michael’s pulse was still racing when Alex climbed into the passenger seat. 

“Hey,” Alex said, subdued but still cautiously warm, and Michael felt a burst of affection that calmed him down some. 

“Hey,” Michael replied, even though it felt wholly insufficient. His hands were sweating against the steering wheel, and he tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation. He had so many things to say, and all of it felt impossible to speak aloud. “I’m glad you came.”

“Where are we going?” Alex asked, and Michael felt a pang of relief at the lack of venom in the question. 

“I thought we’d just drive out to the desert.” Michael almost didn’t say the second part of that thought, but then tacked it on quickly. “Like we used to.”

Alex smiled, a real smile that touched his eyes, and nodded. Relief swelled through Michael again—this wasn’t the wrong idea. He smiled back and started to drive. 

They both knew when they were there, even though ‘there’ was just a feeling of being in the right place—neither of them had ever marked this place, and it wasn’t especially near any landmarks, it was just the place that felt _right_ , that felt like _them_. If Michael hadn’t been roughly forced by his own existence to believe in things that sounded impossible, he would have laughed it off, but instead he chose to quietly believe that there was something about this spot that meant something, even if it was just the residual energy of the way they felt about each other, the way they’d felt for years and years in this same spot. 

Michael parked the truck and turned to Alex, feeling almost breathless with the way being in this spot soothed the fear that he’d messed this up irreparably. “Come on.” He climbed out and into the truck bed, waiting for Alex to do the same. 

They sat back against the pillows, and Michael pulled a blanket loosely over their legs. The sun was sinking out of view, and it would be cold soon. They sat in silence for a moment, just sitting together. Even though Michael knew he had to explain himself, it felt less stressful than every other moment they’d spent together recently, less forced. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, quickly, before he could rethink it. “I fucked up, and it’s not…I want to be the person you want, who’s good for you.”

“You did fuck up,” Alex said, breathing quickly, like he was nervous. “But you are. That person.”

“Oh.” Michael wasn’t expecting him to say it so bluntly, and he wondered again what the hell he was so worried about. 

“Am I, for you?” Alex asked quietly, then rushed through the followup: “You’ve been pushing me away recently.”

“Not intentionally,” Michael muttered. He reached for Alex’s hand, and Alex let him, moving so their hands were resting together on the blanket between them. “You are, yeah.”

“So what  _ was _ all of that?” 

Michael didn’t answer right away, and Alex sighed, although he kept Michael’s hand linked in his own. Michael looked off in the direction of the sunset, and Alex followed his gaze. It was pretty, but Michael looked back after a moment, his eyes drawn more to Alex than to anything else around them.

“Did you know,” Alex said quietly, “that we just passed our six month anniversary? I thought that might have been it—that it was too much for you?”

Michael laughed, the sound startled out of him. This entire time, he’d been under the impression that Alex didn’t  _ care _ about the six month marker, that Alex was pulling away; and Alex had been quietly thinking the exact same thing about  _ Michael.  _ Alex looked at him quizzically. 

“Fuck, Alex.” Michael wiped his free hand across his face, trying to stop laughing. “I  _ know _ it was our six months, that’s why…everything I tried to do—the weird restaurant and the attempt at dinner and dancing, the fucking  _ poetry— _ I was trying to give you a gift. To celebrate six months and so—so you would know that I was all in.”

Alex made a face. “Those were gift attempts?” Michael nodded, laughter bubbling out of him again. “Christ, Guerin, you can’t just give a box of chocolates like a normal person?”

Michael laughed again. “First I was just going to give you gift sex—you know, whatever you wanted in the bedroom kind of thing.” Alex raised his eyebrows. “Then Max suggested poetry, and Valenti suggested that god-awful restaurant, and I even let Isobel buy me these red lacy things, and…” he paused, looking at Alex’s face and smiling, “And none of it was right.” 

“I don’t know, red lacy things could be right,” Alex said, grinning, then his expression turned serious again. “You didn’t have to get me anything. Just getting to that point, just  _ being _ together for so long, that was enough. We could have just…”

“Sat in the bed of my truck and drank terrible sparkling wine?” Michael asked, grinning and letting go of Alex’s hand so he could pull out the bottle. 

Alex laughed. “Yeah.” He watched Michael pop the bottle open and pour into solo cups. “I’m sorry I got so upset,” Alex said quietly, taking his cup. “I was so sure you were trying to make me break up with you.”

Michael shook his head, holding the cup out with one hand and pulling Alex against him with the other, pressing his lips against Alex’s cheek. “Never.” He could feel Alex smile, and Alex turned his head quickly, pushing their lips together. It had barely been a week since they’d last kissed, but for Michael it felt like years, it felt like every other time they’d come crashing back together, drawn by the pure magnetic force of their feelings for each other. Alex’s lips were soft and warm and as soon as they were pressed against his, Michael wondered how he’d ever been worried. 

They broke apart, both laughing slightly, and Michael clicked their cups together. “To the next six months?” Alex nodded, smiling, and they both drank. It was too sweet and not nearly cold enough, but it still might have been the best thing Michael had ever tasted. 

They worked their way through the bottle, sinking lower on the truck bed as the sun sank away into darkness, until they were lying together, heads on pillows and blankets wrapped around them. The sky had turned cloudy, and Michael wished they could see stars, but it was enough, to lie there with Alex, to know that Alex wasn’t thinking of running, that Michael wasn’t being abandoned or rejected. 

He reached out with his mind and turned on the radio, blaring out music as they lay together, as Alex pressed his lips against Michael’s mouth, against his neck, against his collarbone. Michael felt giddy, and he pulled Alex against him, running his tongue against Alex’s lips until Alex let them part, sliding his leg between Alex’s thighs. 

Michael could feel the want radiating off of Alex, and he wanted to lose himself in it, wanted to give himself over to Alex to do whatever he wanted. They’d already talked, and if they fucked now, it would be less of a tool for relaxing enough to talk about his feelings, and more of a reflection of those feelings they’d already expressed. Michael sighed against Alex’s lips. Fuck, but this felt better. 

“You didn’t happen to bring the red lacy thing, did you?” Alex asked, canting his hips against Michael’s while Michael sucked a bruise against his neck. 

Michael laughed, the sound muffled against Alex’s skin, and shook his head. “They’re briefs. And…next time, if you want?” Alex hummed and pressed his hips up against Michael again, making it clear how interested he was in actually seeing the lingerie that Michael had been too afraid to wear. 

The air got colder, but they were too wrapped up in the blankets and each other to notice as they pulled off clothing and lay twisted together. Michael felt electric, his skin hot and buzzing everywhere Alex touched, and Alex seemed determined to touch him everywhere, skating his hand across Michael’s back and stomach and arms, pressing their hips together and rubbing his fingers against Michael’s ass. Alex whispered in Alex’s ear as they writhed together, words of love and of reassurance, and Michael spoke them back, his voice rising into a cry. 

_ I love you I love you I love you. _

It was late by the time Alex rolled off of Michael, both of them panting and sated. The cool air felt good on Michael’s sweat-slick skin, but he still pulled Alex against him, more intent on cuddling than cooling down. Alex drew patterns across Michael’s hip, and Michael rubbed the same against Alex’s back. It was almost perfect. 

“Happy six months,” Alex murmured, sounding sleepy but happy. “This was a good gift.”

Michael smiled against Alex’s hair, pressing a kiss to his head. Turned out, he didn’t need any of the advice, or any of the gifts that fell outside of his comfort zone. Time was a gift, time spent together without anything to make it feel transient. 

“Hey,” Michael said, pulling away just a little bit, “Were you going to give me anything?”

Alex buried his face against Michael’s chest, but Michael could feel him smiling. “Yeah, actually, I was going to give you a drawer.” 

Michael blinked.  _ What.  _ “A drawer?” 

“Yeah.” Alex looked up at Michael’s blank expression and laughed. “Like, a drawer in my dresser.” Michael tried to make sense of that, and Alex rolled his eyes and kissed Michael. “Like, we’re probably not ready to move in together yet, but like a ‘hey, you should stay here more often, here’s a drawer for your stuff’ drawer.”

Michael blinked again, a tentative grin spreading across his face. “Really?” 

Alex nodded, propping himself up on Michael’s chest so that they could see each other’s faces. “Yeah. We were lying in bed a few weeks ago, it was the first time that week you’d stayed over, and I was curled up against you thinking how I wished we could stay like this forever. And then I realized, why not? Why can’t we go to sleep and wake up together every day? Why can’t we be just a short reach away from each other all of the time?” 

“I might be a terrible roommate,” Michael said, thinking about the organized mess of his place, compared to the actual organization of Alex’s. “I probably will be.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Alex leaned up and kissed Michael again. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Stay like this forever, huh? That’s a long time.” 

“We made it to six months. We can make it to forever,” Alex said simply, laying his head back down. 

Michael’s chest swelled with emotion, with how much he needed to hear that—even if it wouldn’t be easy, even if it would, in fact, be hard as fuck, they were both in this for real. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so secure, so certain that he wasn’t going to fall behind, that he wasn’t going to be left behind. “Well, shit,” he said, stroking his fingers through Alex’s hair, “your gift is actually a lot better than mine.”

Alex laughed. “You still have time, you can make it up to me at the next one.”

Michael grinned, and held Alex close. He would make it up at the next anniversary, or the one after that; hell, if Alex kept springing big, meaningful gifts on him, he’d just have to keep trying to outdo Alex forever, and that didn’t sound too bad. There was time, lots of time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> The poem Michael starts reading is [_You_ by Carol Ann Duffy](https://acupofpoetry.tumblr.com/post/89996520832/you-by-carol-ann-duffy)
> 
> Huge thanks to [zade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade) for beta-ing!
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@ineverlookavvay](https://ineverlookavvay.tumblr.com) and I would love to talk to you!


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